


Old Enough

by Am-Chau (Vacillating)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Am-Chau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's past is haunting him, and he must come to terms with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Enough

Old Enough  
by Am-Chau Yarkona  
Daniel's past is haunting him, and he must come to terms with it.  
Rating: PG-15  
Pairing: Jack/Daniel (non-graphic)

 

At  
eight, a boy is old enough to know that he shouldn't cry, and young enough that  
he can't always stop the tears.

* * *

"No,"  
Daniel said. "What part of that don't you understand, Jack?"

"Why,"  
Jack said, flatly. He was sitting on the couch, hands folded in his lap, not  
looking up at Daniel.

"Why,"  
Daniel repeated, as if the meaning had leaked out of the word.  
"Because..." He shrugged, found words from somewhere as he walked  
away. "Because you'll leave."

Jack  
didn't move until he'd heard the front door slam. Then he shook his head,  
slowly. "No, Daniel," he muttered. "You don't see, do you? This  
time, you're the one who's leaving."

* * *

The  
Marcus family were okay in their way, Daniel supposed. They just had no  
conception at all of how to deal with him.

It  
was a house utterly different to any he'd thought of as home. Suburban,  
American, devoid of books or artefacts: he felt out of place—almost as if he'd  
dropped by on a flying saucer.

At  
first, they'd given him too much attention. They'd shown him the bedroom which  
was now to be his, and introduced him to the two boys already living there (one  
their own, one adopted), as well as the goldfish, actually a hundred guppies all  
called Dave. That done, their attention had drifted away. The eldest boy, their  
biological son, was a great baseball player—"going to be the best!"  
according to his father—and he took up most of their time.

Mr  
Marcus was a banker, or something. He worked in an office, and had a pale face  
with green eyes that slid over anything he didn't like.

Mrs  
Marcus was a secretary for the local undertaker. She enjoyed her work, saying  
that she liked meeting people, but refused to talk about it at home. Apparently  
talking about death was "unhealthy" in front of children, and she  
frowned on Daniel's continued interest in mummies and bodies and bones, as well  
as anything he said about his parents.

Instead,  
she encouraged him to play ball with the other boys—their first names escaped  
Daniel's memory within days of his leaving the house—and told him that he  
could be a soccer star if he tried. Bored stiff, he read everything in the house  
and everything in their next-door neighbours’ house as well, until a place was  
found for him at a nearby school.

Arriving  
at an odd time, there were no spaces left in the grade he should have been in,  
and although he tried to say—with shouting and stamping of feet—that he  
could be put into the year above, he ended up in first grade, with Mrs  
Camel-Face.

Her  
real name was Russian, and although he could say it, he normally didn't bother.  
She had apparently decided, based on the fact that he was an eight-year-old in a  
class of seven-year-olds and had previously been homeschooled, that he was  
mentally subnormal. On this basis, she gave him simple math and writing to do,  
punished him for "doodling"—writing notes in Arabic and hieroglyphs  
in the margins of his work—and treated his attempts to get something more  
interesting to do as disrupting the class.

Daniel  
tried asking for more work; to begin with, he got it, but it was more of the  
same. Do these sums, write a story, do some more sums. He stopped doing them  
after a week, and talked to his neighbour instead. She was a blonde girl called  
Maria, and although he was disappointed that she didn't speak Arabic, she argued  
back enough to make it interesting.

"Maria,  
ignore him and get on with your own work!" Camel-Face would snap.  
"Daniel, leave Maria alone."

He  
didn't want to disobey directly, but he had to do something. Maybe if he just  
left the room…

"Daniel,  
sit down!"

The  
work was done, so instead of asking for more he set his mind to inventing a way  
to escape. A few days later, when he'd been at the Marcuses for perhaps a month,  
he put the first plan into action.

* * *

Luckily,  
Daniel turned up at the SGC the next morning. Jack knew he'd have a hard time  
explaining it if Daniel's leaving had turned into something more than a simple  
romantic rejection.

It  
wasn't all that easy explaining the red eyes and frequent yawns, but at least he  
was there to field some of those questions himself.

"Are  
you well, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c enquired in the locker room.

"Fine,"  
Daniel said. "Just… worked late last night."

That  
was plausible enough. Jack pulled his gear on in silence and lead the way to the  
gate room.

* * *

The  
first time he ran away, he only managed to hide for a few hours. The second  
time, it was nearly a full day; and the third time, he was away overnight.

"Look,  
Dan," Mr Marcus said, and Daniel bristled at the abbreviation. "This  
isn't doing you any good. I know you'd rather be out playing soccer than in the  
classroom—I know I would be—but you have to be good boy and do your  
schoolwork, or you'll never get a good job like mine."

Daniel  
stared sullenly out of the window, thinking " _Zift"._

The  
next time around, he said it, and translated for Mr Marcus when he asked.  
"Idiot."

After  
the fifth time, Mr Marcus declared that he wasn't going to deal with it anymore,  
and phoned the agency to arrange for Daniel to be moved.

Afraid,  
lonely, yet somehow exultant, Daniel cried over his book that night. He hid his  
tears when Mrs Marcus stopped to say goodnight.

* * *

They  
returned from P3R-424 soaking wet, cold, and exhausted.

"Pizza  
tonight?" Jack suggested.

"It  
would be pleasant, O'Neill," Teal'c said, already heading for his quarters,  
"but my need to Kelno'reem is more urgent."

Jack  
shrugged. "Carter?"

"Not  
tonight, sir, sorry. I have to bake cookies," she said, and hurried away  
before he could ask how that stopped her eating pizza.

"Okay,"  
he said to her retreating back. "Daniel? Come on, you need to relax."

"Um…"  
Daniel said, trapped by Jack's appeal. "I… have work to do."

"You've  
also got downtime, Daniel—you can't spend it all working."

Actually,  
Daniel was fairly sure that he could, because if he plunged into translations  
and alien languages he didn't have to think about what had happened between  
them. But Jack was asking him not to—asking for time alone with him, asking  
for… he didn't know quite what. It sounded good, to his body if not his brain.  
"Okay. Tonight?"

"My  
place," Jack agreed, and grinned at Daniel as he left.

* * *

Charles  
and Catherine Caddis were a younger couple, fostering because they couldn't have  
children of their own. Daniel could feel the tension in the house as soon as he  
arrived: they were hoping that this one would work out.

"Thank  
you, yes," Mr Caddis smiled at the agency worker who had delivered Daniel.  
"I'm sure we'll be fine. And yes, we're sure hoping we can adopt this  
one!"

They  
waved Jones from the agency goodbye, and the Caddises began to show their new  
"son" around the house.

"We'll  
start upstairs, Danny dear," Mrs Caddis chirped. Daniel suspected he was  
going to start hating her quite soon—her and her cotton floral dress as well.

* * *

"Good  
morning, sir," Carter said cheerfully as she stepped into the elevator.

"Morning,  
Carter," Jack replied, and looked away.

"Sir?  
Is something wrong?"

"Why  
would there be?"

"You  
seem…" Sam paused, "permission to speak frankly, sir?"

There  
was suddenly a lot of tension in the small space. "Yes," Jack said.  
"If you must."

Sam  
took a deep breath. "You look upset."

The  
tension went up another notch. Sam wondered if the colonel was armed, if she was  
going to die here… "upset" had definitely been the wrong word.

"I…  
suppose I am, Carter," Jack said, as the doors opened. He strode out  
without a backward glance.

"No  
chance of my finding out why, I suppose…" Sam muttered, and added when  
the doors had closed again and she was sure she was alone, "Typical  
man."

* * *

"…  
and this is our dog, Blackie."

Blackie  
was a small terrier, with wiry black hair and dark eyes and sharp white teeth.  
He rushed over to Daniel the instant Mrs Caddis released his collar, barking  
wildly.

Terrified,  
Daniel backed away, only to find himself in a corner.

"It's  
alright, Danny," Mr Caddis said cheerfully. "He doesn't bite."

Daniel  
couldn't bring himself to believe it. Sharp teeth looking like the were made for  
biting to him, and… and he was about to sneeze. Perfect.

The  
sneeze confused everyone. Blackie took it as a bark, and backed off in short  
order; Daniel shrank further into the corner, staring at the dog; Mr Caddis  
stood frozen; and Mrs Caddis hunted frantically for a box of tissues.

"Oh,  
Danny, dear," she said. "That's not good. Now, let me see… ah, here.  
Here—blow your nose on this." She handed him a tissue and wrapped an arm  
around him, from which Daniel tried to move away. "Now, say hello to  
Blackie again, yes?"

She  
pushed him towards the dog. He held a shaking hand out and approached.  
"Hello, Blackie…" Blackie, now equally cautious, stepped up and  
started sniffing Daniel's hand, then gave it a quick lick which made Daniel jump  
about a foot and cry out.

Mrs  
Caddis rushed back into the fray, catching Daniel around the shoulders and  
Blackie's collar. "It's alright, Daniel, he wasn't trying to bite, he  
just…"

"He  
wanted to know what I tasted like!" Daniel snapped, pulling himself away  
from Mrs Caddis and ducking out the door. He didn't mean to slam it, but when it  
shut with a bang he didn't feel like apologising.

* * *

"Yeah,  
okay, it was an unalloyed disaster. I was trying too hard. I'm sorry,  
Daniel." Those words out, Jack dropped the pen he'd been fiddling with and  
moved on to the phone cord.

"I  
ended it, Jack, you have to accept that," Daniel's tinny voice said on the  
other end of the line. He sounded tired.

"I  
have accepted it," Jack replied, trying to maintain his dignity. "I  
just regret it, that's all. I'm sorry about the way things have turned out  
between us. Aren't you?" The phone cord was so twisted that it was going to  
take half an hour to undo it.

"I…  
can't we just be friends again, Jack? Like we were before?"

Jack  
forced his fingers to drop the phone cord for fear he'd twist it so much it  
snapped. "We were never 'just good friends', Daniel. And I don't want to go  
back to the way we were. If you want it to be just friends, fine, I can do  
that—but even if you could turn back time, we'd go through all this  
again."

"Even  
knowing what we know now?"

"Even,"  
Jack picked up the slivers of plastic broken off the pen, "knowing what we  
know now." He couldn't stop picking at them. "Although I might try and  
change it a little. Just enough to make it last."

"How,  
Jack? By making the US Air Force more accepting of homosexuality?"

"By  
dealing better with keeping it secret. By making sure you knew how much I love  
you."

There  
was a pause. A pointed plastic sliver drew blood from Jack's left index finger.  
"Goodnight," Daniel said, and Jack heard the beginning of a sigh as  
the phone hit the cradle.

* * *

The  
Caddises gave him up, eventually, when it became clear that the paperwork was  
going to prevent them adopting Daniel. They wanted a child they could feel was  
really theirs. Viscerally, he knew that it was their fault for not trying hard  
enough. How important could a piece of paper be?

The  
memories blurred, as if he'd taken his glasses off: it didn't matter, because he  
knew what happened. He moved on, and couldn't stay there, and moved on again,  
and couldn't stay there either.

He  
took a little rollercoaster ride over the images of his life. Names lost their  
faces, and faces mislaid their names in the rush. The parade went on before him:  
the Tuckers, the two-day cat house, the Simons, the dull Sempencos, tired Mr  
Frankenstein, a family who all wore yellow bobble hats… none of them could  
keep him.

Daniel's  
adult mind knew why, but his dreaming mind was trapped in the past and still  
assumed that they simply didn't want him. He stirred restlessly as the  
rollercoaster slowed and he plunged into the nightmare that was the Michaels.

* * *

The  
next night—their second day of downtime—Jack tried three times to call  
Daniel. The phone rang unanswered until his patience ran out.

He  
let the truck screech to a halt on the drive, and strode up to Daniel's door.  
Hesitating there, he remembered that it was highly likely he wasn't welcome, but  
Jack engaged reckless mode and tried the door handle anyway. To his surprise, it  
opened. Daniel leaves the front door open randomly?

"Daniel?"  
he called as he stepped in. "The phone rang and rang, I worry, you  
know—and you shouldn't leave the door open…"

There  
was no reply. He shut the door and moved in, looking, listening, alert, cursing  
himself for throwing away the element of surprise.

In  
the bedroom, something rustled. Quietly, Jack stepped across and peered around  
the half open door at the hump of bedclothes with Daniel's tousled head at the  
top. He was worth pausing to admire, Jack thought, relaxing. Soft hair, long  
lashes, good cheekbones, kissable lips…

"No,"  
Daniel moaned, and for a panicked moment Jack considered the possibility that  
his Spacemonkey was telepathic. "Why not—I don't…"

The  
rest of the sentence was lost into the pillow, but Jack could—from Daniel's  
frown and tone—make a reasonable guess at its emotional resonance. Nightmare.  
He perched on the edge of the bed, knowing how much it helped to be woken from a  
dream of that sort, and reached out to take Daniel by the shoulder. Jack  
suppressed the desire to touch more intimately—kiss him aware, or better still  
reach under the covers and… a gentle shake would have to be enough.

"Wake  
up, Danny," he said, coaxingly. "Come on, rise and shine."

* * *

"Don't  
worry, lad," Mr Michaels said cheerfully, resting a hand on Daniel's  
shoulder. "I'm sure you'll get along just fine with your new family."

"If  
you say so, sir," Daniel replied. He hated the way his eyes filled, but  
didn't allow himself to draw attention to the weakness by rubbing them away.

"Sure  
you will, honey," Mrs Michaels agreed. She was smiling too: it was meant to  
be a reassuring smile, but Daniel thought it had more tones of relief. Mrs  
Michaels hadn't liked Daniel from the moment he arrived. For a start, he wasn't  
a girl. Mrs Michaels had two daughters already, and thought that a third one  
from the agency would be a nice way to complete the set. Sadly, the agency  
didn't always manage to allow for that sort of request, especially in fosterings  
rather than adoptions.

They  
waved as he climbed into the car that was to bear him away. He waved back—as  
instructed—until they were out of sight, then muttered under his breath,  
"I won't. I'll hate them as much as…"

* * *

"…  
I hate you," Daniel told his quilt.

"And  
I hate you more," Jack replied.

Daniel's  
eyes flew open and he sat up suddenly, dislodging Jack's hand from his shoulder.  
"It's alright," Jack said, soothingly. "It's only me—the door  
was open, so…"

Swallowing  
and blinking, Daniel nodded.

"Glasses?"  
Jack guessed, reaching for the bedside table.

Daniel  
shook his head. "Hug?" he asked.

Jack  
was only too willing to oblige. Daniel held him tight, shoving some of the bulky  
quilt out of the way. He was, Jack noticed, shaking slightly.

"What  
were you dreaming, Danny?" he whispered, after a minute or two.  
"Something pretty bad, right?"

"You  
could say that," Daniel replied.

"Want  
to tell me about it?"

Daniel  
pushed him away, squinting at the clock.

"It's  
nine o'clock," Jack said, handing him his glasses.

"Five  
past, actually," Daniel corrected, smiling at him. "Um… why exactly  
are you here? The last thing I remember, we'd broken up and were not seeing each  
other again outside of work."

Jack  
shrugged. "You really thought I'd let it go at that, Daniel? If we don't do  
the friends thing at least, people will start to notice."

"True,"  
Daniel agreed, and fell silent, frowning.

Jack  
considered trying to push the dream thing, but decided that sometimes patience  
was the better part of valour, and settled for pulling him into another hug.

* * *

Awake,  
the memories were clearer, and Daniel could analyse them a little: it had, of  
course, been the legal situation and not any of the individual foster parents  
which was to blame for his continual movement.

It  
still hurt, though, a blunt ache when he thought about it.

He  
remembered crying, every time, right up into his teens. The feel of tears down  
his face was still vivid. Every time, he'd retreated to his books, trying to  
recapture his own past through the study of the ancient past.

The  
later families had been primed to deal with a difficult child. It was a rare  
family who wanted a teenager—families to take eight year olds weren't as  
common as all that, but families who would accept a moody and awkward fourteen  
year old were as thin on the ground as actual flying saucers, even in those  
UFO-alert days.

He'd  
spent increasing amounts of time in care homes, or sometimes boarding schools.  
His teachers had seen his potential, and many of them encouraged him—but they  
weren't enough. Academic achievement was no substitute for real parental  
support, or the friends he never made.

There'd  
been one boy he was almost friends with, while he was with the Caddises: another  
straight-A student, who'd been enough of a nerd to accept another straight-A  
student as a friend. They'd played Scrabble together, or worked on their  
homework, under the eyes of one family or the other.

Then  
he'd moved on. He'd wept harder that time, knowing that he'd been close to  
something and not quite made it.

Later,  
of course, he told himself, then there were friends. At university.

Yes,  
his subconscious replied, a few. Then Sarah, then Jack. And the rest, as they  
say, is history.

* * *

Jack  
let Daniel's tears soak into his t-shirt, and cuddled him closer. _Bad as the  
Nile flooding,_ he thought fondly. Aloud, he said, "Sshh, Danny. Sshhh."

Eventually,  
the stream dried up a little, and Daniel tried to pull himself together.  
"Sorry, Jack. I…"

"It's  
okay," Jack said, holding up a hand in the 'stop there' gesture. "Do  
you want to tell me what this is about now?"

Daniel  
considered it. "Can I have coffee first?"

Grinning,  
Jack nodded. "Okay. Not decaffeinated, I take it?"

Daniel  
didn't dignify that with an answer.

* * *

"There,"  
Jack said, handing him a full mug of coffee.

"Thanks,"  
Daniel said, and drank greedily—evening coffee was never as good as it tasted  
first thing in the morning, but after having fallen asleep accidentally, it was  
still pretty damn good.

"You  
were going to explain to me?" Jack prompted, sipping his own coffee.

"Oh—yeah.  
Um… I don't quite know where to begin."

"The  
dream?"

Daniel  
nodded. "The dreams," he corrected. "About my childhood, mostly.  
My foster parents. There were so many families—they tried so hard—but none  
of them could keep me, and in the end I stopped wanting them to." He  
paused, staring out of the window into the night, but Jack just waited for the  
next bit.

"Some  
of them sort of blend together—I can't sort out which set of parents go with  
the little kid I really hated, or which family I was with when I was at a school  
I remember clearly, or which faces go with which names. So many of them didn't  
understand—tried to pull me out of my books, make me mix with others  
kids."

Privately,  
Jack felt he could see why someone might feel that was best for Daniel, or at  
least might make him easier to cope with. He refrained from saying so.

"I  
resented that—resented it a lot. I didn't need friends, or another family, or  
so I thought: books were enough. In the books I had friends—it's funny, I used  
to think of the mythological figures as my friends, I remember thinking once how  
much fun it would be to meet some of them—Ra, and Hathor, and the  
others."

"But  
it wasn't quite like you thought?"

"You  
know how it was, Jack," Daniel said, focusing on him for the first time in  
the conversation. "But that wasn't in these dreams, though heaven knows I  
have dreams about Hathor sometimes." Daniel's blue eyes, cast an unworldly  
shade in the odd lighting of the kitchen, were staring into the distance  
again—into the past, Jack thought, and shivered.

"There  
were a few I connected with—a girl called Maria who used to argue with me;  
Amir—his family were immigrants, and he spoke Arabic, which gave us just  
enough in common… I suppose I connected with Sarah and Stephen, too, and with  
Catherine… but that was different, not quite the same sort of friendship…  
so, sappy as this sounds, Jack, you were my first real friend." Daniel  
frowned into the bottom of his coffee mug, which had been empty for some ten  
minutes. "After I met you, of course, there was Sha're…" He took a  
deep breath, and managed not to sniffle again. "And Sam and Teal'c and the  
rest."

"Want  
some more coffee?" Jack offered, glad to hear Daniel say those things but  
feeling it was about time they went back to more manly stuff, like coffee and  
beer, and left all the emotional crap alone for a while.

"Thanks,  
Jack," Daniel said, passing his mug across.

Jack  
made coffee in silence for a while, then asked, "Why are you going over all  
this stuff now, exactly?"

"I'm  
not really sure," Daniel said, shrugging. "I've always dreamt about my  
childhood, on and off, but this time it seems…"

"Worse?"  
Jack suggested, guessing. He handed Daniel a fresh mug of coffee.

"Not  
really… brighter, somehow. Vivid, urgent. As if there's something about it I  
need to understand."

Jack  
waited for Daniel to go on, but he didn't seem inclined to. "Any ideas  
what?" Jack prompted, and couldn't resist reaching across to take Daniel's  
hand.

"Um…the  
recurring theme seems to be that they all left me," Daniel said. He looked  
utterly miserable.

"All?"  
Jack asked quietly.

Daniel  
stared at him. "Jack, I…"

Time  
for an end to this, Jack decided. "Don't let's worry about it," he  
said quickly. "Come on, we're on downtime, what are we doing?  
Fishing?"   


"Museum?"  
Daniel suggested.

"Hockey  
game?" Jack counter-suggested.

"Book  
about hockey?"

"Fishing  
and I let you bring a book?"

"Museum  
of Fishing?"

"Does  
that even exist?" Jack asked, breaking the well-worn pattern of the  
familiar argument. "I don't think it does, but I never dared ask, just in  
case."

"There  
are several, actually," Daniel replied, grinning. "Wales, Cornwall, at  
least two in England, Brittany, Sweden, Poland, Finland, Denmark, Tasmania,  
Copenhagen… our nearest one is Florida."

Jack  
stared at him. "You know all that stuff?"

"I  
have the internet," Daniel smirked. "Do I get a road-trip to  
Florida?"

"Not  
that easily," Jack snapped—he wasn't going to lose this argument, though  
he tucked the information away for further consideration. Florida wasn't all  
that far, really. Different direction to Minnesota, but… focus, he reminded  
himself. "Hockey game on the TV?"

"If  
I get to read while it's on."

"Not  
during the commercial breaks." 

Daniel tilted his head, conceding that point. Jack grinned, triumphantly.

The End.


End file.
